


Something Sweet

by Ivyfics (ivyfics)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Dorks in Love, Getting Together, Lactose Intolerant!Tsukki, M/M, Sweetheart Zine, baker!kuroo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22500115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivyfics/pseuds/Ivyfics
Summary: They’ve been coming to this particular cafe for at least three years now. It’s the only one nearby with ice cream—and sorbet—always on the menu. Even in winter. It's great, that way Kei can have something sweet other than an iced soy latte of sorts. Fantastic.Sometimes Kei doesn't want sorbet or a soy latte or a soy chai or whatever. Sometimes Kei wants to stuff his face with three gallons of ice cream and more mascarpone than what is safe for human consumption.
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei
Comments: 10
Kudos: 191
Collections: Kurotsuki Sweetheart Zine





	Something Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> Hello peeps! This is my contribution to the Kurotsuki Sweetheart Zine. It was a wonderful experience to participate and I hope you all enjoy!

“Kenma! I’ll give you ten bucks if you put real milk in Tsukki’s latte today”–Yamaguchi’s index fingers curl up, air quotes blazing–“by mistake.’ He’s being insufferable.”

Kenma doesn’t blink. “If you sign a waiver saying that you’re liable for all damages and consequences.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“Oh, I’ll sue,” Kei says, not looking up from his phone. 

“You wouldn’t.”

“Somebody’s got to pay my tuition. I’d rather it not be me.”

Yamaguchi snorts, very undignified. His nose presses into the glass display case where, usually, pastries and cream puffs and all sorts of things Kei can’t have are presented neatly. It’s bare now, only cups of brightly colored jell-o and cream adorning it. No one seems to buy them, ever, but Koda-san keeps making them for some reason.

They’ve been coming to this particular cafe for at least three years now. It’s the only one nearby with ice cream—and sorbet—always on the menu. Even in winter. It's great, that way Kei can have something sweet other than an iced soy latte of sorts. Fantastic. 

Sometimes Kei doesn't want sorbet or a soy latte or a soy chai or whatever. Sometimes Kei wants to stuff his face with three gallons of ice cream and more mascarpone than what is safe for human consumption. 

Koda-san (the owner turned baker) retired a couple of days ago, and his stock is dwindling slowly. There’s a new guy taking over, but they haven’t caught a glance of him yet. 

A lonesome slice of apple pie waits on the top shelf of the case. 

“There’s still pie left!” Yamaguchi is about to take the last slice when he’s interrupted by his phone ringing. His voice gets all sappy when he sees the number on the screen. “Aah, pause—Yachi, Hi!”

Yamaguchi is right. Kei _is_ being insufferable today. He points at the pie. “Is that the last one?”

Kenma eyes him with suspicion but he secretly always helps Kei be insufferable. “Yes…”

“Then I’ll take it, and a soy matcha latte, please.” 

He’ll deny it, but Kei can see the smile hiding in the corner of Kenma’s mouth. 

“Okay, what did I miss?” Yamaguchi takes half a look and blusters. “Tsukki, you sweaty sock! You don’t even like it! You won’t eat it.”

“I’m not going to.” Kei picks up the small plate—a pretty glazed rose color with a gold rim to match the tiny gold forks and spoons they use in the cafe— and offers it back to Kenma with both hands. “Here, for you. Enjoy it. Slowly and in front of him, if possible.”

Yamaguchi protests, loudly. Pulls out his puppy eyes. 

Kenma still takes it and puts it next to his switch, away from Yamaguchi’s puppy eyes. This is why Kei likes him. Still, he takes pity on Yamaguchi and sighs. “Hold on, I’ll ask Kuro if anything’s ready yet.”

“Kuro?”

Kenma pulls out his phone, lets his fingers fly and about twenty seconds later there’s a crash from the back, followed by a curse, a loud groan. The door bursts, someone’s back pressed to open it. This must be the new guy. 

“Kenma, you lazy hermit. I’m literally in the room behind you. Why, on god’s green earth, do you need to text me? You could scream, and I’d come out. You scared me so I jumped and my phone is all sticky now and—Uh. Hello.”

The new pastry chef is tall. Not as tall as Kei, but almost. His inky black hair is being held back by red clips pressed into his fringe and he’s blushing very severely. There’s embarrassment in his hazel eyes, a little crinkled at the corners. He follows up with a cough and a weak, “Sorry. Thought there was no one out here.” 

Kenma ignores him, going straight for the cake stand he’s holding and the dessert on it. It looks amazing. “What’s that?”

Kei knows exactly what that is. The new guy is holding a beautifully crafted tiramisu. There are distinct colored layers and the top is dusted by the darkest cocoa powder he’s ever seen. 

Yamaguchi flips him off, discreetly. They _are_ in front of a stranger. First impressions matter. He also mouths, _‘sucks to suck,’_ and immediately shows the new pastry chef a dazzling smile.“Hi, I’m Yamaguchi. Nice to meet you.”

“Hey. I’m Kuroo.” Kuroo’s eyes narrow for a second. “You’re Yachi’s boyfriend, right?”

“Yeah! How did you know? Did she say anything about me?”

Kei’s mouth moves before he thinks. “I apologize, he’s twelve and has a secret crush on his own girlfriend.” 

Kuroo laughs and smiles his way. He stops, stares, and nods. “You must be Tsukki.” 

There’s a brief silence, all of it on Kei’s part. He’s not used to strangers calling him by his childhood nickname, no matter how nice the stranger’s voice sounds. Kuroo catches it and manages an apologetic look—a fake one, by all standards but the intention is appreciated. “Kenma and Yachi talk a lot about you two.” 

He’s...cute.

He’s tall, dorky and is carrying sweets. He’s carrying Kei’s favorite dessert, in fact. 

Very cute. 

Yamaguchi is evil so he doesn’t care that he’s having a cute moment with a cute baker and rushes along. “That’s great. Can I have some of that?”

Kuroo seems to have forgotten he’s holding anything, and jumps ever so slightly. “Yeah! Yeah, let me cut you a piece.” He grabs another plate, a yellow one this time and cuts a generous portion. “It just set but it’ll survive.” 

Yamaguchi’s eyes are focused, but not on the tiramisu. They’re settled on Kei and filled with malicious glee. “Could I get that _à la mode_?” 

“Not going to lie, that’s a weird combo but I like a man that knows what he wants.” Kuroo plates it, pretty as can be. The tiramisu, that is. Then he goes the extra mile and adds a dash of whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon. 

Yamaguchi is awful. He knows full well that tiramisu is Kei’s favorite, one he doesn’t indulge in often. Mascarpone is his kryptonite, both physically and emotionally. Kei stares at it a little too much because before he knows it Kuroo is grabbing another plate and asking, “Did you want one, too?”

“Yes.”

Kei did not want one. He doesn’t really want to suffer. The combination of ice cream and whipped cream would be deadly. But...

Dorky and sweet. How is he supposed to say no to that? 

Kei remembers he could ask for it plain, to save himself a little but the excitement in Kuroo’s eyes jumble his words and keep his mouth shut. Kenma is smirking where he stands, Kei knows it. He won’t look to confirm for the sake of his dignity, but he can feel it. 

He grabs his plate, and his latte. Nods his thanks and sits across from Yamaguchi’s hyena-like smile and doesn’t say a single damn thing in case he provokes the response resting on the tip of his best friend’s tongue. 

It’s not the worse thing Kei’s ever eaten. 

Okay, that’s a complete lie because it is the best tiramisu he’s ever had but he’s not going to _say_ that. It’s amazing. Fluffy mascarpone, ladyfingers that were soaked but not drowned in great coffee, the slight kick of rum plus the sprinkle of espresso alongside the cocoa powder on top–it’s fantastic. 

Kei eats all of it, to the last bite.

* * *

Later, with the lights off, Kei groans and shuffles to get comfortable. The back of his knees throb, pain radiating all the way to his calves. The pain in his elbow pings in response, an orchestra of shame playing, _“Why did you have that ice cream, stupid,”_ followed by, _“Was it worth it? ”_

He suffers for it, greatly, but he remembers Kuroo’s eager eyes along with the fact that his piece was slightly bigger than Yamaguchi’s (plus an extra dash of caramel on top) and he can’t seem to make himself mind.

* * *

The next time Kei comes to cafe, Kuroo is at the front along with Kenma. He greets Kei with more familiarity than two people who’ve only met once usually have. It gives Kei a weird feeling in his gut. 

“Another tiramisu _á la mode_ today, Tsukki?”

His face does something weird, either at the nickname or at the memory of the pain _á la mode_ in the back of his knees after that pie. Kuroo’s face falls with it. “Did you not like it?”

“That’s not…” Kei doesn’t want to do it. He really doesn’t. “I’m just very intolerant to dairy. Allergic, almost.”

Kuroo pales, a pinch of mortification on his face before it does a one-eighty and he blushes all the way to the tips of his ears. “Oh god. I served you so much! I’m so sorry.” 

He’s unfairly cute. The blush, and the flour-sprinkled cat bandana he’s wearing to hold his hair back is a deadly combination. Tall, built, talented bakers have no business throwing blushes around and being cute. 

Kei barely manages an “It’s alright,” without reaching out to see if his face is as warm as it looks. It’s an effort. Kei deserves a reward for his self control. Moving over to check over the case again, the small circular citron pies catch his eye. “They’re so pretty.”

There’s that blush again. This time there’s a pleased, “Thanks!” to go with it. Kei sees a mix of proud and sheepish. It’s a good look on him. 

“I’ll take one, and an americano.”

Kuroo hesitates. “Can you have this?”

“It won’t make me sick.” Much. 

“Alright. Go take a seat, I’ll bring it to you.”

Kuroo brings the americano, and the citron pie. He’s fiddled with it, adding some fresh strawberries, a garnish of mint. Kuroo also sits across from him, sliding into the seat as if he belongs there, coffee in hand. “So what’s your favorite? The one thing you hate not being able to eat?”

Apparently, the pie comes with company. Kei is curious about the cute baker who blushes like carnations and unabashedly steals a moment with an almost-stranger in the middle of work. He’s game. 

He doesn’t have to think too hard. “Tiramisu, actually. My grandma used to make it. I’ve tried a few but even the full dairy ones were very _‘meh.’_ Not worth the consequences at all. The one you made is the best one I’ve had in ages.”

“I doubt it.”

“Really. You underestimate how bad the others were.” Kei takes a swig of his americano. Then another one. It’s good coffee.

It feeds his rant. 

“Why would they use shitty coffee? I had one that someone made with cottage cheese. Cottage. Cheese. Not even cream cheese, no. How hard is it buy mascarpone?Like–” Realizing he’s gone off the rails, he stops. “Sorry. I get bitchy about inappropriate uses of cheese.”

Kuroo looks at him like he’s never seen a human before. Amused, is the word. “I think,” Kuroo says between sips of his own cup, “we’ll get along, you and I.”

* * *

Turns out Kuroo is right. They do get along, the both of them. Kei comes in a lot more. He still comes with Yamaguchi, still spends time visiting Yachi at the counter and bothering her, but he comes in alone a lot more than he used to. He starts jogging to contrast the number of sweets he’s been inhaling. 

He doesn’t have real ice cream, or anything overtly filled with dairy anymore. The few times he’s tried Kuroo’s nipped it in the bud with a combination of salty jabs and order recommendations. A single _Hmm, can you eat that?_ is enough to have Kei desisting from his self-sabotaging ways. 

Kenma’s eyes tell him that he knows. He starts telling him random facts about Kuroo when it’s just the two of them. Kei knows he has a sister he loves, grandparents that adore him, likes the color red, and can make killer bread. 

So he has a crush on the cute baker. 

So what?

No crime against eating sweets while talking to a new friend. No crime in letting said new friend sit with him every time Kei comes in by himself and talking about inane anything and everything. No penalty for wanting to lay a kiss on his cheeks every time he blushes. 

Everything is dandy.

* * *

On a rainy Wednesday Kuroo greets him with a smile and a mug of hot chocolate like he’s been waiting just for him all day. It’s pastry baking day, and his all-white outfit is dusty with flour. The clips on his hair are golden and glittery.

It’s an effort to not rush, to close his wet umbrella and set it inside the bag he carries for it not to drip everywhere. Kei stops when he reaches the counter and doesn’t understand how, even with Yachi and Kenma there, they all know Kuroo is the one to greet him first, and the one he’s here to see the most.

He makes chit chat with the other two while Kuroo grabs things here and there. He’s about to order when Kuroo sets a tall mug in front of him. It’s one of the big rose-colored ones, the kind you’d be happy to grip with both hands and enjoy the heat radiating from inside. There’s a mountain of whipped cream topped with chocolate shavings coming out of it. It smells amazing. “A new recipe.” 

Kei blinks. “There’s whipped cream on this.”

Kuroo winks at him. “Just try it. You’ll be fine.” 

Kei blinks once, twice. He’s pretty sure he’s the one blushing this time. Pretending everything is fine, he averts his eyes. 

Kuroo is strangely suave, with a glint in his eye. He pushes off the counter. “I gotta go do baking things. I want a full review later.” 

Kuroo all but floats into the back. Kei tries the damn flirty chocolate, hoping to hate it. The whipped cream tastes of vanilla and coconut, the shavings of dark chocolate. There are cloves and cinnamon on the chocolate itself with a hint of salt.

The sigh that comes out of him at the taste is pure contentment. It’s warm and comforting. He’s glad Kuroo wasn’t there to see him taste it. 

Another sigh. 

“I’m so very fucked.” 

Yachi chuckles, eyes knowing. “You really are.”

* * *

The meringue for the mini citron pies is almost done. He’ll toast the big one in the oven, but the little ones need more care, more precision, so he’ll use a torch. 

They’re lovely. Tsukki loved them last time, too. His face lit up. 

Tetsurou all about died sitting with him that first time, trying to pretend he wasn’t nervous as hell and that no, siree, he was _not_ a creepy dude but a new possible common friend. The new neighborhood baker, at your service. 

At least Tsukki liked the strawberries. It’s a nice touch if he does say so himself. It’s nice to think about, that first conversation. All the ones that have come after that. 

Very nice. 

So, Tetsurou thinks. He wonders. Grabs the notepad and pencil he keeps for just this reason and starts scribbling thoughts and ideas. He can make it work. “Tiramisu, huh.”

* * *

Kei comes in one afternoon to find the perfect storm. There is no Kuroo but there are several already portioned pieces of his tiramisu, which is kismet since there is no one to goad Kei into not inhaling at least one of them in the cafe and taking one home for later.

Kenma enables him, as he always does. He’s sitting, fork at the ready. 

Kuroo all but yells, “Don’t! Don’t eat that!”

He freezes. 

Kei is a smidge guilty, but he’s not the only one to be blamed. (He is.)

Kuroo knows he loves tiramisu, Kei told him, so it’s not his fault if Kuroo just makes it and then leaves Kei unsupervised. (It is.) 

A little mascarpone isn’t going to hurt. (It will.) 

Kuroo actually, literally takes back the plate in front of Kei. Snaps it away and holds it high. 

He gets ready to argue. “I know I shouldn’t but–“

“I made you another one.”

That halts Kei in his tracks. “What?”

Kuroo forgoes any explanation and rushes off. “Wait here.”

Baffled, Kei mutters. “Where would I go? You’re taking my food.” 

It takes Kuroo two minutes, at most. 

“This one is yours.” He sets it down before Kei can say anything. The cream is a darker shade, and the shape is different. It’s been molded in a circular shape, towering over the previous one in height. There are tiny roses of coffee-colored whipped cream on the edge, along with shavings like the ones from the hot chocolate from a few weeks back. The same espresso-cocoa blend from last time is generously dusted over. It’s a small piece of art. 

“No inappropriate cheese usage in this one, I promise. No cheese at all, in fact.”

_I’m going to lose it_ , he thinks.

“Why,” Kei breaks, “are you so damn _sweet._ ”

“What.”

Kei points to the open seat next to his until Kuroo sits. “You’re just! Sweet. All the time,” he hisses. Kuroo’s blush is spectacular. “That too. The blush. You shouldn’t be allowed to do that. You can’t be cute and talented and sweet.” 

“Tsukki,” Kuroo chides, flustered. “You’re killing me here.” 

Kei points to the tiramisu on the table. “How do you think I feel?” 

Kuroo hides his face in his hands. Kei is about to ask him, hell, anywhere when he takes a deep breath and slaps his still red cheeks. He stares Kei down. “Could I,” he begins, breathy, “take you out some time for coffee and a conversation? Somewhere not here.”

Kei meets his stare. Spears one of the whipped cream rosettes and brings it to his mouth. There’s a kick of rum to go with the warmth spreading through his chest. “As long as there’s something sweet.”

**Author's Note:**

> Go visit [ My Twitter](www.twitter.com/ivyfics) for more stuffs.


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